I have a dirty, dirty mind

So I'm at this Sarcoidosis support group the other night and we're all sitting around a hospital boardroom table talking about everyone's issues, as you do. I got hopelessly lost within a strange hospital and came in late so I missed all of the introductions.

We're sitting there and this posh-looking business guy at the head of the table says "Look, I need some advice on medications. I'm having serious issues with my performance." and makes circular motions toward his lower abdomen.

Immediately I stifle a grin. No WAY are we about to hear about some stranger's bedroom issues, right?

So he goes on:

"I can barely perform at all right now. It's really affecting my life"

I can't believe the turn this conversation has taken.

He continues:

"I build up slowly and strongly but when it comes to the grand release...nothing" and makes explosion motions with his hands while thrusting out his chest.

Oh my God I am dying. HOW is nobody else giggling at this?!? How can I be the only immature one in the room? I made eye contact with my friend and was shocked to see that she didn't seem too phased by this.

He continues:

"My self esteem is shot. My performance is even affecting my home life now."

ZOMG is he talking about sexual problems OUTSIDE of his marriage?! With US?!

I let out a teeny giggle of discomfort and awkwardness- looking around the table but NOBODY else is blushing and giggling like a 14 year old boy. How is this possible?!

He continues:

"I'm afraid my career is ruined."

OMG what does this guy do for a living?!?!? This has quickly become the BEST SUPPORT GROUP EVER. I am DYING in my chair. I had to turn my head away because I absolutely could not keep a straight face and then-

An elderly woman around the table kindly asked him how The Adams Family went. 

Wait, what?!

Turns out he is an actor in London's West End. Musical theatre. He's currently playing Lurch.

I turned to my friend and whispered "wait, so none of that was a sexual reference?" and she was like "what is WRONG with you?"
Yeeeeaaaahhhh.

The Airplane Bathroom

The Airplane Bathroom

I don’t really have a fear of flying – I just don’t like it. We’re not meant to hurtle through the sky at the mercy of a faceless airline pilot with a suspected drinking problem. Flights go missing, flights go down – and I’m certain that if I ever were to survive a plane crash in the ocean the sharks would then get me.

I just don’t like flying.

So, like everyone else with an irrational phobia, I read about horrible flight accidents and incidents and terrorists and watch TV shows about mysterious illnesses on an airplane, snakes being loosed on passengers and incidents in which both pilots died and a passenger aircraft was landed by a blind librarian with his guide dog, just to ‘prep’ myself. See, I’ve heard of these things called ‘air pockets’ – random bits of air space without gravity or something, so everyone not wearing their seatbelt is thrown up out of their seats and concussed by the overhead baggage shelves. So I do not take off my seat belt, for anything.

And the thing that makes air travel worse than riding through packs of lions on the Serengeti on a slow, chubby camel in the dark covered in zebra steaks?

The bathrooms.

Fine, they’re gross and overused. That I can live with. But the suction. The unholy suction! Like opening a portal to the netherworld and having your innards sucked out if you don’t get up fast enough. When being absolutely forced to use an airplane bathroom I do my business in lightning speed, slam the lid down, push the flush button and pray – one foot already firmly outside of the open bathroom door, holding on for dear life lest I get sucked through that tiny hole and blasted out into the airspace through the bottom of the airplane.

Yes, I know that this probably won’t actually happen. But that’s the beauty of irrational fears – they are delightfully irrational.

I looked at my daughter and then up the aisle to the nearest washroom only four rows away. I know exactly what is going to happen. I’m going to take off my seatbelt, putting my life at great peril, grab Lochie and run up the aisle to the washroom, hoping that it wouldn’t already be engaged. I’d grip onto the headrest of each row in turn as we made our way up there, only to be caught out by a beverage cart being pushed along the aisle. A Mexican standoff would ensue, neither of us willing to back up to let the other through, even though I’m the one holding a squirming toddler gunning for the bathroom. The drinks cart would reluctantly back up the aisle, slowly, giving me just enough room to squeeze into the tiniest washroom of all time while squeaking ‘don’t touch anything!’ to Lochlynn as she flailed helplessly under my arm.

In the dim light and over the roaring hum of the plane’s engines (why are they so much louder in the bathroom??) I’d scramble for toilet paper to wipe down the seat before plonking Lochie down, gripping the filthy handle under the sink in case we hit an unexpected air pocket in one hand and the back of Lochie’s shirt with the other so I could hopefully keep her down as well. Then there is the law of nature in which kids pee lightning quick when on their own but doddle the hell out of it when you are stressed and bent at a painful angle in front of them.

“Are you done yet? No? Why aren’t you done yet? Please be done. We have to go. Come on, you must be done. What do you mean there’s more? No there’s not! YOU’RE DONE! LET’S GO!”

The plane inevitably hits a bout of turbulence and the seat belt sign pings, stopping my heart along with it. I don’t even wipe the poor kid – pants up, lid down, door open, toss her outside, one foot out aaaaannnnndddd flush-and-bolt. Get the hell out of my way the seatbelt sign is on and I need to get us back into our seats, pronto. I will go over that drinks cart if I have to, move it!

An urgent tug on my sleeve jerks me back to my seat belted and white knuckled reality – “Mummy, I’m going to go in my pants!” I’m still sat there safely buckled in my seat eyeing up the bathroom, the entire scenario having played through in my head.  I look at my daughter, gazing back at me with such trust and faith. I’m her mother, I can do anything. I can do no wrong. Such love, such belief in me.

I turn and whack Paul awake from across the aisle, handing him our squirming child. “You’re up sweetie, she’s got to pee and you’d better hurry - this one’s gonna blow!”

I undo that seatbelt for NOTHING.

Ooh! And here comes the drinks cart!

The Airport Bathroom

Despite what you may read on here, we are actually a very nice and relatively well-behaved family. About to go on a mini-break to Norway for a couple of days we were sat at a London airport (which will not be named!) letting our kids run wild in the play area and watching groups of stag-do's in increasingly bizarre get-ups pass by. (one guy was dressed as a full French Maid. It was incredible)

Even though I had just taken them about half an hour before, Kaitie came running up to us dancing with her knees pressed together - she had to pee and she had to pee now. This one was Paul's turn so he picked her up and darted away down the length of the airport in search of a loo as I guarded our assortment of bags, coats, dolls and snacks - a typical airport family.

Five minutes passed and Lochie wandered up wondering where her twin was. 

Ten minutes passed and I began to wonder too.

Fifteen minutes passed and I became a wee bit concerned. Not a big deal, I'm sure there was just a line or something.

Twenty minutes later and I see Paul speed-walking toward us off in the crowd, carrying Kaitie over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and mouthing something urgent to me. 

Bewilderment registered on my face as Paul frantically mouthed something about a Gate and made wild, swirling arm motions for me to pack up and run. What in the world was going on over there? Nobody else was hurrying like he was and we still had a good hour to kill before our plane would be boarding. I mouthed "What?" and he shouted "Gate 51! Go go go!" from across a sea of people. Trusting in my husband I gathered up Lochie and threw on our luggage, coats, bags and started booking it to Gate 51 - Paul caught up and burst out with 'no time to explain! Just get to Gate 51!'

I looked over at Kaitie while we hussled down the wide corridor packed with people - she seemed happy, fine... breathing. Her pants seemed dry, what the hell happened?

I stole a glance at Paul and huffed "What happened? Are you guys okay?!"

"We're fine - everything is fine. We just have to get far away from here, let's just go to the gate."

Alriiiiiight....

We finally made it to Gate 51 and after catching our breath Paul told me what happened.

He took Kaitie, who was near to bursting, to the men's room at the other end of the airport so she could go pee. However, us not having thought this through particularly well he came to find that within the fairly large men's washroom there were only four stalls, all with lines at least three people deep - and a wall of urinals. Kaitie couldn't hold it - she had to go so badly she was almost crying, he said. So he did the unthinkable.

He pulled down her jeans and held her, backwards, over a urinal.

This would have been awkward enough - with the looks he was getting of mixed disgust and admiration while Kaitie held on to him for dear life shouting 'don't touch anything daddy! It's dirty!' yet he held her there while she let loose a torrent of pee, his knees buckling with the strain of his half-bent position holding his three year old daughter above a urinal... until her little legs shot out in front of her, stiff as a board as she strained and grunted with all of her three year old little might.

"Wait, Kaitie, what are you doing?!? You're not pooping are you???"

Oh yes, yes she was. She was straining like a champ and, before he could stop her, she was pooping in an airport urinal. He tried to stop her but it was too late - a little deer poop nugget had already landed in the pristinely white urinal underneath her. Witnessing his dire predicament another man called over and let him take her into a stall so she could finish - but it was already too late for the urinal - there was nothing to be done.

Except to get the hell out of there.

That poor, poor airport bathroom janitor. I can only imagine what he thought must have happened.

The Pooping Tree

The Pooping Tree

We are a family destined to never have a weekend without some sort of incident. I have come to accept that, and this weekend was no different. 

A favourite friend of mine recently told me that I 'don't quite view the world the way everyone else does - that not only do excessively weird things happen to me but that I laugh about thing in ways that maybe most people don't.' She's a psychotherapist, so I tend to take her somewhat seriously. I cannot understand, however, how these things continue to happen - and how anyone would not also laugh until they nearly wet themselves in these situations.

But I honestly wouldn't want it any other way.

This weekend featured a hike through the woods around Ashridge Estate, a beautiful woodland full of deer and dense forest surrounding a picturesque manor home. The area is dotted with ivy covered cottage farms and bright yellow canola fields - dangerously easy to get lost and with somewhat difficult to spot trails - which explains why you periodically see pairs of hikers thrashing through the brush like drunken yeti's, searching for anything that might resemble a walking path. But you don't see other people often on this trail.

In hindsight it wouldn't be a bad place to hide a body.

We had been walking for about an hour and a half straight when Kaitie started to get uncomfortable. She wasn't thirsty, she wasn't tired. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't just a whiny three year old. She had to poop.

Okay, no problem. We can do this. Pooping in the woods is totally no big deal - in fact it's a life skill. See? We're good parents! Plus, we've done it before - on a previous hike in which the entire family descended into outdoor bodily function mayhem. She got her pants down and I scooped her up, squatting down myself and using her weight as a counter-balance to keep us both upright, me again holding her by the back of her knees. Paul and Lochie went off to find walking sticks and to leave us in relative peace. My thighs quickly started to burn, I wouldn't be able to hold this position for long. I urged her to hurry, to which she responded with a mighty squeeze, her little legs straightening as I felt her entire body tremble with effort. I couldn't help myself, I started laughing. She told me it wasn't funny, which made it that much funnier. 

She squeezed out a little deer-poop and was so proud of herself that she twisted around to take a look at her accomplishment, nearly knocking me over in the process. I regained my footing, beads of sweat dripping down my face. I couldn't hold this position much longer, and called to Paul - he was going to have to come take over soon. Huar Huar then came out of nowhere, diving between my legs to try to get at her poop-nugget  - "Gaaah! No Huar Huar! Don't be disgusting! Honey, help! I can't hold her while fending him off!"

We needed a break, this was not a normal poop - this was going to take some time. So Paul found her a log.

And so we waited. And waited. 

And waited. 

Alright, this wasn't going to happen, perhaps it would be best if we kept going and she could walk it through her system - so off we went to continue on our hike. We had been going for another 20 minutes or so when Kaitie stopped on the trail, clutching at her bum. 

"I need to poop!"

Can you wait honey? We're almost to the manor house and I'm sure they have a washroom there.

"No, I need to poop now!"

Okay, wow. Alright, hang on, we'll find you a place to go.

"It's coming out in my pants, Mum" (she says this in a total dead-pan)

Oh my God ,what? Okay, okay - Paul, we need a log! It's going to be a big one! I picked up Kaitie and ran after Paul, who had found... Kaitie's pooping tree:

There was a small dry log directly in front of the tree and I stuck Kaitie on it, who strained and pushed like a snake trying to pass a small goat as we, her loving and supporting family, laughed until we cried. We were laughing with her, of course. Paul then noticed a major flaw in our plan - directly across from Kaitie was some sort of very large fox-hole in the base of the tree. Were there foxes in there? We both peered down inside, listening for sounds of life. Nothing, and we slowly backed away, keeping an eye on the fox hole lest a fox randomly burst out of there after Kaitie, who was determined not to move from that log for anything.

It was also about this time that we heard a sound off in the distance - our entire family suddenly still and completely alert - relaxing our vision as native Indians did in Canada when hunting to draw our eyes to movement (who said outdoor-ed was a waste of time in junior high?). We all turned to movement off in the distance to our left - a lone mountain biker was about to happen upon our perfectly normal family all hovering over a half-naked toddler straining over a fallen tree. No no no no no, please turn. Please please please please turn. Go any other way but this one. We all waited and watched silently, like deer in headlights - collectively sighing with relief as the biker did indeed turn the other way, then laughing like hyenas when his bike tire got caught in the mud and launched him off his bike and into a bush. Quiet and discreet hyenas, but hyenas none the less.

Kaitie announced that she was done - but our stash of biodegradeable TP was already gone. I had nothing.

"There's poop stuck in my bum."

What? What do you mean 'stuck'? Paul told Kaitie to 'assume the position' and he took a brave look - "yep. There's poop stuck in there alright."

"Get it out Mum!"

Wait, why me? WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?!? Dad's right here too!

"Just get it out Mummy!"

Ah crap. I looked at Paul in desperation, I didn't have any tissues left and was considering using her socks. Paul unclipped the water bottle from my pack, asking me if I'd had all I wanted to drink. 

"Yeah, why?" He then asked the kids if they wanted any more water. "No? Good. Because either we sort out some leaves of this water bottle becomes a bidet."

Oh hell no.

In the end we found some large leaves and, after googling images of 'stinging nettles' and 'poison oak' from our phones in the woods I used them to clean up Kaitie, unsure of what to then do with the rather large collection of dirty, dirty leaves. 

And then I remembered the fox hole.

The rest of the hike was reasonably uneventful as we made it to the manor house, came upon a full village memorial for a horse and risked a deer stampede just so Paul could show up his mother's expensive camera with pictures taken from his phone. We started the long hike back through the woods when...

Lochie had to poop.

"Not on my tree!" shouted her sister as we tried (in vain) to convince Lochie to hold it until we got back to the car, or at least to a less populated part of the woods. It was happening now, like it or not (what is with my family?) There was a large log-pile up ahead, clearly stocked in the woods for use at the estate over the winter. I pointed it out to Lochie, we just had to make it to the privacy of the log-pile and she could let loose. Paul ran ahead of us to set up a log, which he had to take from the actual log pile and position behind the mound on the other side of the trail.

Can't we do anything like a normal family?

We all huddled around Lochie for support - she wasn't as cool with woodland pooping as her sister - and quietly coached her through the ordeal, again, gathering leaves and leaving a little mess of horrors for the estate groundskeeper to find later (I'm so sorry). Phew, it was done, we pulled up her pants, dusted her off and gave her a high - five, then we stepped out from behind the large woodpile and screamed -

We had scared the ever living crap out of an elderly couple walking along the path as our family of four just randomly jumped out at them from behind a woodpile in the forest. Six people screaming and clutching their chests in a huge forest with no sign of people in any direction, Huar Huar having been too interested in the poop to give us any kind of warning or for the couple to have seen him running around. They must have thought we'd been waiting for them from behind the log pile. 

How do you recover from something like that?

You don't. So we did the most British thing we could think of, commented aloud on the weather, wished them a good day and walked away as though nothing had happened at all.

One of these days we'll have a nice, normal day out.

One day.

My bum is aching with pride

My bum is aching with pride

I have officially become one of ‘those’ parents. It is 9:00am on a Saturday. I’ve had a viciously long and stressful week at work. The Friday night wine at home barely took the edge off. Oh how I would love to be at home in bed still, the morning light peeking through my bedroom curtains as I snuggle deeper into my soft, warm duvet and fluffy pillows.

But I’m not.

I am sat on a hard, dirty wooden bench in some sort of side-room full of broken sports equipment and paint-splotched chairs outside of Kung Fu class, with the rest of the miserable parents. Great. Rather than sleeping in and lazing about enjoying my Saturday morning I am watching my kids’ Kung Fu class through a tiny window obscured by other hovering parents eager to watch their precious darlings. I can’t turn off my newly acquired ‘mom instincts’ of tidying this room, pairing discarded sneakers and neatly piling children’s jackets that had been strewn about in the mad dash to get into class.

And then I wait. And waiting sucks.

I look around at the other parents – an assorted and equally miserable lot. Most are staring with glazed eyes at their phone screens, some texting. One has headphones in and seems to be learning Russian. Another heaves a sigh of defeat as his phone battery dies and he is left with nothing to do but actually watch the class. I am interrupted as my twins burst into the parents’ room – it’s a water break and I’ve got nothing.

“Sorry girls, I forgot water. Mum dropped the ball on this one. You’ll be fine though, it’s only an hour. Get back in there.”

Cue looks of judgment from the other parents – they didn’t just bring water, they brought snacks. Well then.

I look around at the newly ‘decorated’ parents room among the abject misery of parents watching the time and playing candy crush on their phones. They’ve put up some pictures, and one seems to be a signed picture of Chuck Norris. This place just got infinitely cooler.

Oh God. There’s still 40 minutes left.

It is like this wherever we go for their classes. Ballet is even worse, as we parents that pay for this crap are all crammed into a church hall side-room with too few chairs and a washroom with a broken door. The room smells of old people and the door sticks, so you have to push so hard when trying to get in that you end up bursting into the room and making a scene grand enough to raise a sea of heads from their iPhones. And then we all just find a spot by the wall and... wait.

I'm jolted from my self-pity by Lochie running into the waiting room - she's upset. Kaitie hit her. "Well yes, Lochs. We're at Kung Fu class. Go hit her back."

Other parents are always looking at me funny.

 I beam with pride as I watch through the window and see my three year olds in fighting stance – the teacher correcting their posture and the smiles on their faces as they look back at me for approval. The waiting is worth it - 

Even though Paul is out golfing.

I think he's got this 'waiting thing' pretty well figured out.

Deal with it Mum! (I kind of miss diapers)

Deal with it Mum! (I kind of miss diapers)

(a post not for the pearl-clutching variety)

We were walking down the street with friends of ours, having just met them for dinner with our three and a half year old twins. The twins remained quite civilized throughout the meal, regaling the other restaurant patrons with their chopstick skills and conversational Chinese. As parents we couldn't be prouder, and walked down the street back toward the car with our heads held high in pompous pride. 

I should have known it wasn't meant to last.

Out of nowhere one of the twins stopped and stood straight as a board, panic on her face as she shouted "Oh noooo! It's poop! It's coming out!"

Wait, what? Honey hold it, we'll go find a washroom!

"I can't, Mummy DEAL WITH IT!"

What?! Why me? Her dad was right there too - though we were all too busy busting a gut with laughter to help her. Parents (and friends) of the year, right here. I rushed her into the nearest ASDA (with her doing the cowboy shuffle) to finish off and clean up - a task with twins (the other one had to suddenly go too) that had me longing for the days the twins were still in diapers - life was so much easier back then. I emerged from the handicapped bathroom with two dripping wet three year olds, myself panting and coated in sweat to share this lament with Paul, who reminded me of 'the Great Indian Incident of 2012'.

Ah yes. That. Diapers don't always do what they are supposed to.

Who doesn't love a good tikka masala every now and then? The girls were about 2 years old and we had taken them out for lunch at a local Indian place we were eager to try. The food was delicious and the girls loved it, dipping their bread in masala and sweet korma, helping themselves to vegetable rice and generally eating and jibber-jabbering away while we enjoyed the meal. Both kids seemed absolutely fine, they seemed to love it, actually.

Until we got into the car.

The kids were strapped into their car seats in the back, happily looking out the window as we pulled into the street and started our relatively short drive home. Out of absolutely nowhere Lochlynn started screaming at the top of her lungs - an 'I am in mortal pain' type of scream. I turned in shock to see her purple in the face and completely rigid in her car seat, straining stiff as a board against her restraints. We didn't know what to do, we had no idea what was wrong or what was going on. Paul changed course for the nearest hospital as I whipped off my seat belt and crammed myself through the small space between our own seats and into the back seat of the CRV, kicking Paul in the face as I did. I am not a graceful woman in the best of conditions. Neither of us cared, we were desperately worried about Lochie, who was still purple, rigid and screaming. I tried to soothe her, to get her attention, anything to comfort my child... 

And then she smiled.

All was suddenly quiet and calm as we sped down the street toward the hospital, the putrid smell hitting us in the face like a can of mace. Lochlynn had filled that diaper. Her clothes were puffed out to the side to accommodate the size of the full diaper. I've never seen a kid so suddenly satisfied. I was frozen in place, mostly in the back of the car with the kids but still with one entire leg resting on my own seat up front. My mouth was hung open in shock, not quite comprehending what had just happened and giving my own child the side-eye as I told Paul that she was okay, no need to go to the hospital. We could head back home. With the windows down, please.

Paul obliged and made a U-turn, heading back toward home as I attempted to complete the crawl into the back-seat - where I didn't fit between the car seats anyway but figured I would at least give it a go as I was more than half way there anyway.

Bam! Lochie suddenly straightened in agony and screamed at the top of her lungs, again turning purple. She was gasping for breath, this couldn't be normal - there was something seriously wrong. Paul made another sudden U-turn and we sped back toward the hospital - Lochie's twin sister Kaitie losing her own cool at the roller-coaster of panic within our family vehicle. Lochie was screaming and I was trying my best to hold her without removing her from her car seat, wishing nothing more than to hold her and take away her agonizing pain -

And then she smiled, again.

I swear to God that kid filled that same diaper again so much that she got taller in her car seat. I couldn't take this. I was hanging half into the trunk of the CRV with my bum bent over the seat frantically emptying groceries all over the car so I could use the plastic bags to shove down Lochie's sides to contain the poo-splosion and save the car seat - and the car. There was so much in there that it had overflowed out the top of her pants and cascaded outward like a rolling sea of putrid foam. Tears stung my eyes - I was jerked violently to the side, Paul having made a fourth U-turn to again change course and head home. The Indian poo-foam was now in the tips of my hair.

I stayed there for the remaining journey home, perched with a single bum cheek on the tiny middle seat between their gigantic car-seats, hair blowing wildly in the wind of the open windows and staring at my happy toddler, sure that there was no way this was over.

We made it home, spilling out onto the drive and releasing both kids. Lochie's situation was so dire that I took her pants off in the car and left the overfull and shredded remains of her diaper in a horrific mess in her car seat, plastic bags and all. Paul would be getting out the pressure-washer, that was certain. Relieved that there didn't seem to be any more coming we brought the kids inside and I went off to the bathroom to clean myself up as Paul tackled Lochs with a pack of wet-wipes on the couch. I was in the midst of scrubbing under my nails when I heard more screaming and a "nnnnooooooOOOOOOOO!" from the living room. I yelled to Paul to find out what was happening as I started down the hall when he shouted back "Run a bath!"

"What? What happened? Did she go again? Is it on the couch?"

"It's too late for the couch! Don't come in here! Just run a bath!"

"What do you mean it's too late for the couch?!"

"Run. A. BATH!"

"Do you want bubbles?"

"JUSTRUNABATH!!!"

Never, ever in our lives have we dealt with so much poop at once. The next time we ate Indian food as a family we ordered in, the kids were naked, the couch was covered in a sheet and the potty was within arm's reach.

'Cause hey, who doesn't love a good tikka masala?

Kamikaze Shihtsu

Kamikaze Shihtsu

So my dog Huar Huar is a special sort of dog. First off, he's got a clear case of 'little man syndrome' in that despite his teeny tiny cutesy size he fully challenges larger dogs such as rottweilers and huskies with delusions of grandeur and determination for a fight he is not fated to win. Always.  He has gotten better, and will sometimes even completely ignore other dogs at the park. Unless they come my way, then they must be destroyed. 

Clearly.

Secondly, he's old. A grumpy kind of old. He is, we think, around 14 years old but still looks and has the agility of a limitless puppy - with the disposition of a grumpy old Chinese general. He may be cute, but he's got a dark side.

And that's the third thing - he's Chinese. Like, actually Chinese. We got him from a street market in China back in 2002 and the 6 month quarantine to bring him over to the UK six years ago gave him PTSD - this dog has issues. 

But we love him, our ridiculous Huar Huar. We couldn't leave him behind...

Plus, he seemed to like the basket.

So there we were, cycling away through the forest – the bikes and trailers finally worn in to the point that it no longer posed a significant maiming danger to our children. Huar Huar was running beside me, pausing here and there to dash gleefully into the woods like a miniature deer, bounding through the ferns to emerge again beside me on the path. We kept on, being relentlessly driven by my whip-cracking daughter Kaitie, determined that we were ‘winning the race’ despite my insistence that this was most certainly not a race and that mummy’s entire body would revolt if I were to keep pedaling at this ridiculous speed.

Huar Huar started to lag a bit, and was now running beside Kaitie. Still with a look of idiotic glee as he bounded about along the road, deftly dodging our bicycle wheels like a pro.

Then he started to run beside Paul, then Lochie, then Lochie nearly fell off her bike twisting around to look for Huar Huar, who had given up and sat in the middle of the road behind us, panting and valiantly insisting that we go on without him.

It was time for the basket.

We struggled. Getting Huar Huar into the bike basket was a two person job, one to hold the bike still and make soothing baby-babble noises (who’s got your basket? Who’s got your basket?) like a pack of senile old women and the other to grip all four of his paws and lower him in butt-first while avoiding his teeth.

The dog was in the basket – and he seemed to like it. Well, he wasn’t jumping out, so that was a good sign. He tried to sit up and we coaxed (pushed) him back down. The kids were yelling at us from behind – they wanted to go! There was a squirrel ahead that needed catching up to. We looked again at Huar Huar in the basket – he did seem happy. He also seemed very tired, which would probably work out well in our favor as hopefully the breeze and exhaustion would keep him in the basket. I gave the bike a bit of a turbulent shake. He didn’t seem to mind. A bit more of a violent shake, he was still in there. I gave the bike a really violent shake – he was fine but Kaitie was pissed, I’d shaken her right off her bike.

(that kid’s got quite the glare worked out)

It was now or never, we were ready to give this a try. Murmuring encouragement to both Huar Huar and Kaitie I took off, wondering to myself how my mountain bike had turned into a family vehicle that now sat three. It was working, this was not so bad! Granted, Huar Huar on the handlebars was quite a bit heavier than I had anticipated and the first turn I attempted grazed a tree, from a starting point of about three meters away. No matter, Kaitie is used to it and got her hand and leg out of the way in time, though we did blow off one of her training wheels (which Paul went fumbling through the woods to then recover). No matter. We’re good!

Another mile or so and I had really gotten the hang of this – we passed other families in awe now not only of our awesome toddler bike trailer contraptions but now the ‘sweet little puppy in the basket’. Little, yes. Sweet, not so much.

Twice Huar Huar saw another dog and sat up in the basket to get a better look. I pulled him back down by his collar each time with one hand while failing to steer straight with the other, nearly plowing down other families and trailblazing into the forest very much to Kaitie’s dismay and the entertainment of many strangers. But we were good – this was fun. Paul was keeping a close eye on us but there wasn’t much he could do other than shouts of encouragement and to ‘look out for that tree’.

We were good – cycling along for another mile or so alongside our friends – a 9 month pregnant woman on a mountain bike pulling her 4 year old son and all of our picnic gear in a trailer. We’d already arranged with the bike rental staff at the park that should she give birth on the trail that the baby would get free forest Segway adventure rides for life, so it was okay. Things were going great, Kaitie was so far enjoying her first bike ride that didn’t break any skin and Huar Huar was chilled out in my basket, my lungs were screaming and thighs burning – and then we came upon a family with a beautiful tall white Husky.

Huar Huar wanted that Husky.

It was one of those moments in life when time seemed to slow down. The Husky came into view and Huar Huar’s ears perked up in attention. He sat up and I heard myself start to form the word ‘noooooo’. He wanted that Husky – his bum started ‘the wiggle’ in the basket and I reached for his collar, veering violently to the left as I did. The family walking the Husky looked up, hearing my cry and our bikes swerve against the gravel. Huar Huar lept, in a single fluid movement, out of the basket and toward the great Husky directly in front of my bicycle. In his mind, he thought he looked like this:

But reality was much more like this:

My kamikaze shihtsu burst out of the basket and hit the ground rolling with the speed at which we were already travelling. Screams erupted from all around – the family with the Husky, Kaitie, Paul, Lochie, other strangers along the path and me – as I ran over my own dog with my front tire. He rolled out, dazed but determined – he still wanted that Husky. With a jerking twist he was up and again on his feet before Kaitie and I had even come to a complete stop and we all watched, silent and speechless as he ran directly to shove his nose up the sphincter of the great white Husky who, having just witnessed the lengths to which Huar Huar had gone to procure such a sniff, just raised her tail and let him do it. Then, to everyone’s collective horror, my very small shihtsu let loose to have his way with the very large Husky.

I did the only thing that was socially appropriate to do in such a situation – I leapt off my bike leaving Kaitie to fend for herself trying to hold the whole thing up and ran for my dog, apologizing profusely to the Husky’s family for such a strange display of canine sexual harassment – explaining that my dog is really old, and Chinese. As though that would somehow justify his suicidal and rape-y behavior.

There is really no way to gracefully recover from something like that, other than to grab my dog, shove him back in the basket and ride on to Kaitie’s shouts of ‘mush’ and ‘go faster mummy’.

And Huar Huar? Content as can be, just chilling out in his basket for the rest of the afternoon. As Paul said, we’re fans of the school of natural consequences, and he’ll only do that once.

Well, hopefully.